


So Drawn To You (like a fool)

by gala_apples



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Bonding issues, Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Soulmates, Triad Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:03:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3443105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wouldn’t want to say that Scott getting mauled by a werewolf wanting a regime change only matters for how it affects him, but the truth is it’s fucked him over a lot. Including but not limited to destroying his happily ever after, giving Jackson more douchebag ammunition and making Stiles erratic enough that his dad’s about one step away from an intervention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Drawn To You (like a fool)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pterawaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterawaters/gifts).



> This fic doesn’t have enough of an unreliable narrator to tag for it, but it is strictly Stiles POV. The Hales actions are more understandable from other points of view.

The thing that sucks about Stiles’ current situation -besides the obvious- is how much information he has that he can’t share with anyone. Harley’s said he has the soul of a researcher, but that’s not quite true. A researcher would be satisfied just having the information, having a perfect pristine understanding of what they’ve studied. In Stiles’ opinion that’s not enough. He has to be able to disseminate it, by whatever means necessary. Like Econ essays.

Through no endeavour of his own, Stiles now knows the the answer to a question that’s plagued helxiology for centuries: why some poor pathetic percentage of the population either loses as they age or is born without their soul magnets. It’s a breakthrough that could win him the Nobel Prize, even though he’s just some random asshole teenager, but he can’t tell anyone. Why? Because the answer is werewolves. 

The answer is goddamn werewolves. Not only would no one believe him except the fringe few whom no one else believes, the Hale family would fucking kill him for spilling it. If he meant that in a rhetorical, “all the teachers and half the deputies hate me” kind of way, no question would Stiles throw the info up on the internet anyway, just so the few to which the answer would be relevant to could find it. Unfortunately, it’s completely literal. Stiles has known about werewolves for approximately three weeks and in that time three people have died.

The ultimate helxiology question is answered; those who don’t have soul magnets are werewolves, and Stiles is lucky enough to know first hand. Second hand? First and a half hand. Peter bit Scott and now Scott has no magnets and Scott might be the one with them gone but it affects Stiles just as much. It’s actually affected him in like ten different ways. Melissa is worried and that’s upsetting, not to mention unnecessarily costly, since she keeps taking Scott to specialists. Jackson and other idiots like him are claiming it’s because they’re not good enough for each other. Everyone keeps staring at Stiles’ neck to see if his magnet marks have disappeared and then looking away if he tries to make eye contact. Even Harley’s done it a few times. And Dad’s treating him like he’s about to have a mental breakdown.

Worst of all, Stiles has figured out who their other magnet is. When Peter went psycho and tried to have his little coup d’etat, various dispersed Hales came home to deal with the problem. Two of them were Laura and Derek, who came in from New York. It took about twelve seconds of being in the Hale house for Stiles to magnetize to Derek’s side. The bitch of it being full circle, that werewolves don’t have magnets. According to Talia it fucks up the nature of a Pack to only claim/cherish/need to be in contact with two others. Born wolves never had magnet marks because they’re born feeling the Pack bond. Bitten wolves lose it when their Pack nature wins.

Scott’s better than that though. When Scott lost his need to cling, felt drawn to Peter and then almost immediately back to Talia as the Alpha power was reabsorbed, he didn’t lose his _want_ to cling. Biologically split loyalties don’t mean anything if you refuse to let your body win over your brain, and his Scotty is a stubborn son of a bitch. When Talia dropped the ultimatum of Stiles getting the bite or Scott prioritising the Pack, Scott walked out. And then Stiles might have blown him in the Jeep on the edge of the property because fuck you Hales.

“It sucks that Derek’s a Hale,” Stiles groans into the air. Scott’s grounded, thank you Hales for curfew breaking madness, but his computer hasn’t been confiscated. This early in the day, webcamming is their best contact option.

“I know man.”

It’s possibly the tenth time Stiles has said it this morning and he still means it. Thankfully Scott is the best boyfriend ever because it’s the tenth time Scott’s heard it and he’s still managing to sympathise.

“Look. It’s not like you have to be friends with him. We were the primer before, and we’re the primer now. After you’re done you can act like you’ve never met him.”

“I wish my dick had never met him.”

Because therein lies the problem, doesn’t it. Stiles: the token human, magnetized to Scott and Derek. Scott: basically magnetized to the whole Hale Pack, refusing to drop Stiles despite being non-consensually rewritten, aesthetically attracted to Derek because he has eyes. Derek: magnetized to his family, of which Scott is a part, apparently willing to appease the new member by putting up with the useless human.

Information that helxiologists already have, that you learn in middle school health class, that is a lot more difficult when it’s not just a fact in a pamphlet: the longer you stay away from your soul magnet once you’ve met them, the more it hurts. Physically and emotionally. Stiles has managed seventeen days, and he sort of feels like he’s dying. He’s been claiming a flu and Dad’s been kindly not pointing out that flus don’t generally come with crying jags and temper tantrums, but it’s a detente that can only last so long. Sooner or later he’s gonna get an intervention. Harley’s mom will probably be involved, since she’s the elementary school guidance counsellor, and she and baby-Stiles developed a rapport after Mom died.

“Come on man, time to get out of bed. Weren’t you supposed to meet him at eleven? It’s like fifteen to.”

“Shit, is it really?” Stiles has no freakin’ idea where the time went, Scott’s Skype rang at him just after nine. How the hell has it been almost two hours? He hasn’t even had a shower yet. “I haven’t even had a shower yet!”

“Don’t bother. Werewolves, remember? Smelling like you is better than Zest. Just get going. Talia doesn’t like lateness, her betas are probably the same.”

Stiles bolts for the kitchen, clad only in Snoopy boxers that are ragged from wear. His feet stick to the air-heated linoleum with each step towards the fridge. He ignores the sensation in favour of opening the door and chugging directly from the carton of orange juice. Normally breakfast involves a solid of some kind, but he doesn’t have the time for it. He doesn’t even have time for a glass.

It’s only when closes the door that he sees the To Do list pinned prominently under a Disneyland magnet. Stiles loves his dad more than anyone else in the world, but sometimes he rues the day the man learned to write. He’s got to sort the recycling and drag the plastics container to the curb. He’s got to organise the DVR or everything will be cleared, regardless of watched status. He’s got to wipe the shelves of the apple juice he spilled yesterday, or he’ll be murdered. He’s got to make a grocery list, with the unwritten but understood threat that if he doesn’t, Dad will get whatever the fuck he wants. He’s got twenty minutes to get to Derek’s house to get laid, according to the **be here at 11** text the guy sent. Sadly, the last doesn’t seem to be accounted for on the list, and there’s no way Stiles is going to have time to do everything before his dad takes a home lunch.

He briefly considers taking the list from the magnet and slipping it half under the fridge. That way when Dad comes home, he can claim he didn’t see it, and that’s why nothing got done. Unfortunately, his loving, nagging dad isn’t an idiot, and Stiles isn’t prepared to deal with the consequences of some of the chores. He bolts into the living room and pulls up the DVR, all the while brainstorming about what meals he can make and what he needs for them. The sticky spill can wait. His dad didn’t kill him yesterday, he won’t do it tonight. 

Stiles scrawls the grocery list on the back of the To Do list, puts it back on the fridge, and sprints upstairs. He still has to sex-primp. He and Derek aren’t going out on a date. He doesn’t need a button down shirt and jeans with nicely cut pockets barely big enough to hold a pack of gum. He needs easy access clothing in case Derek doesn’t have the patience Scott does with multiple layers. He doesn’t need cologne, he needs to swim in a vat of roll on wet deodorant, because he’s had enough experience to know he’s a sweater. He doesn’t need flowers or a Slurpee to hand over, he needs condoms.

Outfit chosen -a hoodie zipped over a bare chest, and nearly black denim jeans- Stiles makes a break for it. He’s halfway to Derek’s before he hits a red light, thank the traffic gods. He uses it to practice driving safety and read the text Scott sent him.

**love you**

Stiles bites his lip when he sees it. He can never tell when he’ll be in the mood to hear it, so he can’t warn Scott one way or the other. Sometimes he hates it. Love is a word for people in relationships beyond soul magnets. They don’t know they belong together so they have to say it. It sounds so frivolous sometimes. But other times it’s the strongest word in the world. It’s defiant, three people together despite -possibly in spite- of fate, of biology.

**Almost there. If I don’t check back in two hours poss kidnapped by lava monsters. Find me!**

Scott sends back a very blase **kay** , but Stiles is confident he won’t let him fry to death. They’re besties, and best friends don’t let best friends die horribly.

Stiles stops himself from sprinting up the sidewalk only because he doesn’t want to start sweating before he has to. He’s not worried about it being a bad first impression, they’ve already got that out of the way. He’s worried about being gross, turning Derek off. After a moment of deliberation Stiles rings the doorbell. Knocking on doors has always seemed sort of overly aggressive to him, maybe because His-Dad-The-Sheriff knocks so suspects can’t claim they didn’t hear anything. He drops his hand, and jams his hands into his hoodie so he doesn’t do something stupid like try to shake Derek’s hand. Then he has about two seconds to wonder if hands in pockets makes it look like he lacks self confidence, or if it draws attention to his groin, before the door opens. 

“So I’m just gonna...” Stiles trails off as he maneuvers around Derek to get through the front door. The guy doesn’t move, which is pretty on par for the level of attitude Stiles has been getting from various Hales. Derek’s only saving grace is a vague theory that Derek didn’t so Stiles would have the chance to shimmy around him. He has a Pack, he has to know how much of a relief it is for Stiles to brush against him, briefly satiating the soul magnet after two weeks of going without. 

Inside the front door, there’s a welcome mat littered with a half dozen pairs of Converse shoes. Stiles can appreciate a family with dedication to a brand; he and his dad are Tide-for-lifers. Gain just smells weird. He can also appreciate unsaid house rules, and toes off his own no-name sneakers before starting to walk further into the house.

“Come up to my bedroom and take your pants off.”

Stiles is unashamed to say that he walks into a wall. A lot of people have unmagnetised relationships, sexual or romantic, before they find their two magnets; Stiles is not one of those people. No one’s ever found him hot enough to proposition. Yeah, he came here to ‘get down,’ as they say. No he didn’t think Derek was into the idea enough to initiate. Finding that out is startling, and Stiles isn’t exactly smooth to begin with.

Quick as anything, Derek is in front of him. He’s got a hand on his chest, like physical contact alone can prevent bruises. “Stiles?”

What little composure Stiles has breaks at this point. He wants Derek. Not just his hand on his chest. Not even his hand on his dick. Every inch of him wants to glide against Derek. Anything less simply isn’t an option. 

With frantic energy coiling in him, Stiles pushes Derek against the wall. More accurately, Derek lets him. It’s not like he has any strength in comparison. Stiles knows that for a fact; he and Scott have already tested sexy wrestling. The closer he gets, the more he wants Derek to be naked. Now. Yesterday, even. Fuck, why hasn’t he been having sex with the guy forever?

Things get a bit overwhelming after that. Stiles doesn’t remember it feeling this intense his first time with Scott. The difference’s probably because he’s been with Scott since infancy. Adults recognised the magnet marks before he and Scott ever had a chance to. There was never a point in which they weren’t going to end up together, and they’ve rarely been apart long enough for magnet sickness. Derek’s different. Until last night, when Scott brokered a type of peace through Cora, Stiles was equal parts determinedly staying away from the entire family and completely sure Derek wouldn’t want his dick anywhere near him. So not only is Stiles trembling from the sudden absence of magnet sickness, it’s all tinged with the surprise that Derek’s into it.

Derek briefly works him open before he slides in, and then Stiles is lost in a bright haze. The sex is over quicker than Stiles would like. Not only is it a matter of pride -although it is; he wouldn’t want Derek thinking he’s a sad quick draw near virgin- it’s also an abrupt conclusion to their deal. Just like Scott’s bargained for slight amounts of Pack time without officially joining and declaring himself Talia’s beta, Scott’s negotiated sex for Stiles and his poor human magnetism. Two orgasms means it’s time to go.

Stiles wanders back to the front door -they never really made it past wall sex- and bends over gingerly to pick up his clothes. His underwear stings as he slides it up. On top of all the other delightful aches and pains he’s going to have zipper rash on his ass cheeks from Derek barely dropping trou.

“See you later, Hale.” Not that he’s entirely dressed and out the door yet. He still has to get his shoes on, and the broken backs mean he has to untie the laces first.

“You don’t have to leave,” Derek says. Stiles is impressed with how much the big guy’s emoting. He could almost be a three out of ten on a scale of how much he actually gives a shit.

“Yes I do. I get enough of a fuck that my soul magnet is satisfied, and then me and Scott stay the fuck away from you guys until we need another fix. I was thinking maybe next Thursday? There are never lacrosse games on Thursdays.”

“But you don’t have to stay away.”

“Yeah we do,” Stiles says casually. He’s not quite ready to escalate this, for a variety of reasons. On the nicer end of the spectrum, the sex was fantastic. Stiles and Scott are still experimenting with how to use Scott’s new status in bed. Derek’s got all the perks down pat. No sense in risking that in making things unfriendly. On the darker side, the last three weeks have taught Stiles and Scott both how insistent Hales can get about their traditions. If it becomes a contest of who can put their foot down harder, heel bones could get broken.

“Stiles-” 

“Yeah. We do.” Stiles repeats himself, even though werewolves have tip top hearing, so there’s no way Derek misheard. “It’s not our fault that Uncle Peter took away our choices, and we’re keeping what little we have left.”

“Scott, maybe. But Peter didn’t take anything from you. Your reason for coming around is just the soul magnet. I thought humans trusted it?”

“That’s a problem, right there.” Stiles pokes Derek in his bare, toned chest for emphasis. “Humans. I’m not just a person. I’m the human. I can hear the capital letters, Derek. You think I think like some other species. We’re not that different. I trust my soul magnet that way you trust your Pack.”

“So then you should want me all the time!” Derek says triumphantly.

“By that logic your entire Pack should be amazing, and look at Peter. Besides, I didn’t say I don’t want you all the time. I do. I’m just smarter than that.”

“You think it’s smart to constantly feel lonely, and from what I’ve read, physically ill?”

“I think better being the weird kid in town who spends as little time with his soul magnet as possible than getting lured in and violated.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Derek demands. Stiles can tell by flushed skin and furrowed brow that the beta is pissed.

There are three factions of Stiles’ brain silently but furiously at war. One is focused on the soul magnet and saying or doing whatever would talk Derek into a round two, or maybe a cuddle in the offered but unvisited bedroom. One is logical and survival-based and says to get the fuck away from the pissed off werewolf. One is the belligerent part, the part that revels in being in the right, especially in front of others. Stiles isn’t surprised his mouth wins out over his fear or his need for companionship. Like the Greeks said, know thyself.

“Your family is awfully into the idea of your mom biting me. It’s totally possible that your ass is being used as bait, and I do mean that literally.”

“The bite is a gift.”

“Do you realise when I said no, at least five different members of your Pack said that phrase at the exact same time? Do you get how culty that is?”

Derek throws his arms up. “Sorry if it seemed ominous. But it is. That feeling that you get when you’re hanging out with Scott, warm and safe and automatically happier even in bad circumstances? I get that around everyone I care about. Plus I can’t get sick, I have enhanced senses, I can run faster, and I live longer. The bite is a gift.”

“Cul-ty,” Stiles says, a chest jab for each syllable.

Derek sighs. It’s pretty clear Derek thinks he’s a moron, but what comes out is all placation. Another reason to not trust this, and ignore the soul magnet as best as he can. “I just want Scott to enjoy being a beta. Since he’s made it clear he comes with you, I’m trying to make you happy too. So why don’t you stay? It’ll make your soul magnet happy.” 

Just because Stiles is still standing within magnet radius doesn’t mean he’s not leaving. If he’s going to be arguing with Derek for a while yet, there’s no reason to start the clock on magnet sickness earlier than he has to. Even if Derek interprets it as something other than what it is. Stiles can give himself this, just like Scott has given himself permission for them to park the Jeep just outside Hale property late at night. Playing until their DS batteries drain at the edge of Pack range has helped him, and who cares what the Hales might think about it?

“I don’t know how much clearer I can say it.” Stiles’ crossed arms are waving now, they can’t help it. He’d blame the ADHD, except know thyself part deux- he’s sure he’d be an expressive person regardless of neurodiversity. “It’s impossible to trust the Hale Pack right now. You are part of the Hale Pack. Therefore-”

“What if I moved out?”

It’s almost a needle scratch on vinyl statement, except for how it’s complete bullshit. This is placation in action, and Stiles is not having it. He will not be lured. “You couldn’t leave your Pack.”

“No, I couldn’t. You probably couldn’t leave your dad. But I wasn’t living with them when I was in New York, was I?” Derek returns.

“You had Laura.”

“Yeah. One Pack member. Scott would be one Pack member. So I temporarily remove myself, and you and Scott get time to figure out we’re enthusiastic, not culty.”

Derek sounds genuine. Stiles thinks he might actually _be_ genuine. Stiles isn’t good with second chances. He’s better at judging people in a split second and sticking to assumptions. But if Derek means it, if he’s really willing to do what he said, it could be a decent solution. Stiles doesn’t want to throw the offer in the trash if there’s a chance it’s legit.

“I won’t stay. I don’t want to be creeped on. But if you want to leave with me?” Obviously Derek can’t go home with him, Dad’s home. Beacon Hills has a dozen things to do during a warm weekend though. There’ll be something, somewhere.

Derek shakes his head. “We really don’t have to leave. Everyone’s at work.”

“It’s Saturday? And the tv’s blaring?” Once the words are out Stiles realises it’s not that weird. It’s not like his own dad is home right now. Maybe Derek turned the tv on for audio companionship, not parents cranking the volume to not hear their son screwing at the front of the house.

“That’s me. Beauty and the Beast and the Brains marathon. I’ve been up since seven.”

“You watch CW?” Stiles blurts.

“Uh, yeah.”

“You’re kinda blowing my mind here.”

“Why?”

“You didn’t seem like the trashy man-pain kinda guy to me.” 

Derek doesn’t take offense. He just laughs and fluffs his hair a little before scratching his nape. “Well to be fair to your observational skills, you don’t know me. And to be fair to my tastes, an arrogant brutish guy who loves his manservant but can’t or won’t see him sexually, kidnaps a beautiful girl who gets along better with said servant? And they’ve only got a year until the brute finds his soul magnet even though the witch has removed his magnet marks, or he dies? It’s a great drama.” 

“Well when you put it like that...” Stiles starts.

“You want to watch an episode?”

When Stiles woke up this morning to Scott’s Skype call-- Scott intent on keeping him calm and semi-rational until his sickness relieving booty call-- he didn’t anticipate things ending like this. Yet here he is, sitting on the Hale couch, close enough to Derek to make his magnet flutter. As a delightful bonus, Derek’s apparently the kind of guy who realises his favourite show is objectively terrible and keeps up a steady narration of groans, eyerolls, and sarcasm. Stiles can appreciate a good bout of sarcasm like practically nothing else. 

It’s less than half an hour later that Stiles’ guard is down enough to pull out his phone. Derek can’t be all that terrible if he’s mimicking Beastian in a bass growl.

**i know you’re grounded. wanna risk it to hang out with me and D**

**seriously?** Scott sends back a few seconds later. 

**worst case scenario we bail and we tell my dad I need depolarisation therapy. Best case he’s less of a stalker wolf when separated from his family.**

Gaston’s just passed out in the pub when Derek frowns and twists to look at him. Stiles doesn’t squirm under the intense gaze. He’s the son of the Sheriff and grew up babysat by deputies, and teachers mostly hate him. Scott’s dad definitely did, before he finally fucked off to let Melissa and Maria enjoy their lives. He can handle a deep stare, thanks.

“You invited Scott?”

Stiles pats Derek’s thigh. It’s a fine specimen, Stiles can feel the muscle through the denim. “Sure did, buddy.” Not that he heard a bike drop on the front lawn or anything else indicative that Scott’s actually here. Damn werewolf senses. 

Stiles isn’t jealous when Scott bounds into the house and practically leaps at Derek. For one, it would make him a huge hypocrite. He did nearly identically the same thing an hour ago. For another, what kind of member of a primer couple gets jealous when their third magnet lines up? Some trios even have feedback loops. Stiles never will, thanks to the Pack taking his boyfriends’ magnets from them, but the point is still relevant. Jealousy is a canker that stops you from getting the full spectrum of happiness.

If anything, the feeling in his stomach is guilt. Scott doesn’t have his mark for Stiles anymore because he has a Pack. Derek’s the only decent member of that Pack, and Stiles has been hogging him.

Once they’re done doing a mutual weird neck smelling cheek rubbing thing and Scott’s standing up again, his face draws with concentration for a second. Stiles is about to ask Scott if he just figured out the thesis of his English essay -always a problem for Scott, he does _not_ have the soul of a researcher- when Scott speaks up. “They’re not here?”

“They knew why Stiles was visiting. He’s not Pack, so overhearing would be awkward.”

Stiles jumps on that statement because he absolutely freakin’ has to. “Implying that if I was, voyeurism is okay?”

“We’re werewolves.”

That is not the simple answer Derek seems to think it is. Creature of the night or not, TMI is TMI. “Yeah, but you’re not _animals_.”

Scott shakes his head. “It’s different.”

Stiles scoffs. “Don’t tell me you’re on their side now.”

“You know I’m not. If there was a way to resurrect Peter and make him take it back, I would. I’m just saying when you can hear someone jerking off from a mile away, boundaries are a bit different.”

Once again Stiles pinpoints the important part of what’s been said. “You can hear him jerking off? Has he ever jerked off while we were fucking?”

Scott makes a face. “It’s not like we co-ordinate.”

That is so not a no that it’s nearly awe inspiring. “I wanna try it. Right now.”

“What?”

“Derek, go in a different room. We’ll start fooling around. You dirty talk to us about what we’re doing.” It’s only after the words have come out that Stiles realises they’re very demanding, and he’s the weakest person in the room. But fuck it, it’s what he wants. After more than two weeks of living purely by attempting to avoid what he doesn’t want, Stiles has earned some active want.

“Does that mean you’re ready to share?” Derek asks. There’s a weight to his question that makes it mean more than the words he’s said.

“It means I’m okay with us fucking as a normal triad.” Sharing with a whole Pack of people who think he’s an inconvenience is not the top of Stiles’ To Do list.

“Good enough for you?” Scott asks. His voice is sharper than Stiles is used to hearing from him, and Stiles can’t help but wonder if he’s also radiating some warning werewolf pheromones.

If so, Derek doesn’t react, no glowing eyes or furry face or anything. All he says is “yes,” in a perfectly even voice.

“Good enough for me, then,” Stiles interrupts cheerfully. The peace they’ve brokered is fragile, and as much as Stiles feels all warm and cuddly when Scott is being his champion, he’s got his own baseball bat if necessary. Right now it’s not. Right now everything is fine, and he wants to have sex. It won’t be the great romance the movies say he’s owed. It’ll never be. But it can be something, if he tries. He’s going to try.


End file.
